


The Vaulting

by night_reveals



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-10
Updated: 2012-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-05 02:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/night_reveals/pseuds/night_reveals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki takes over Clint’s mind. Clint’s body will follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Vaulting

**Author's Note:**

> 2am cleaned drabble. currently pondering a follow up for them.

Clint opens his eyes to the freezing bite of blue ice covering his face. Blistering pain rides his veins to stream over the curl of his chin, float up his cheeks, and settle deep into his eyes.

Clint has long excised panic from his life. Panic gets you hurt. Panic gets you killed. The last time Clint panicked, he ended up in central Europe with a putrid wound eating away at his calf as he ducked through alleyways and sewers for a week, avoiding unsavories. It isn’t an experience he ever wishes to repeat.

Yet as the blue ice reaches for him, curling tendrils of cold at his consciousness like roots on a quick-growing weed, panic blooms in his mind. He has no strength to stamp it out, only the hope that with the panic he will find the ability to fight this man, this being in front of him.

For a moment it seems a possibility, Clint breathing deep as his spine straightens, his fingers tingling. Despite the cold, his chest burns, a hole there sending searing pain along his nerves, making his muscles clench with aching tension. He tells his body to go, go forward — but it doesn’t.

Like a bridge overtaxed by pedestrians and cars, Clint’s mind buckles under the weight of panic and ice, his life crunching to gravel and shredding whatever meager support is left it.

He falls into the abyss.

 

Clint has been cold before. He’s sat for hours on top of high-rises, flexing his fingers to keep the blood flowing as he tracks his target from four blocks down, watching the bob of a single blonde-haired head like a tackle in an ocean of black suits. The wind reaches into your bones that high in the sky, cutting through flesh to wrap its fingers around muscle and sinew, making you brace yourself against it every few moments.

The freeze he lives with now puts that to shame. It boxes him in at all sides, the worst of it the blue hovering over his eyes, a veil that cuts him off from the world.

His body moves, but he does not move it.

Clint knows he should fear that. He should be hiding in the darkest, most remote corner of his mind to avoid this overwhelming presence that pulls at his limbs with the ease of a child playing at dolls. Instead, he flings himself towards freedom everyday, battering himself onto the jagged, freezing barrier that keep him from sight.

A few times he hears something through the ice, but like a shadow at the edge of vision, the sounds are wispy and unpromising, and he decides he cannot spare the effort to worry over them.

Clint gathers what little of himself remains, and dashes it against the rocks once more.


End file.
